


Trick Shot

by andsylphy



Series: Guns, Arrows, Affection [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Fingering, M/M, McCree too, Oral Sex, a fic where it's Hanzo falling in love, also hanzo being sassy, and happens to have porn at the end, sex where they talk a lot during it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-06-29
Packaged: 2018-07-18 23:35:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7335529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andsylphy/pseuds/andsylphy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At this point he was admitting to himself that half of him couldn’t end the competition due to pride, and half was wanting to impress McCree.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trick Shot

 Perhaps it was when he first started interacting more directly with Overwatch that this had all started. Originally, he had first interacted one on one with Jesse McCree when he needed someone to allow him into the practice range. Until he had his own code, he had to continue to ask this of the American, who was more than happy to oblige.

 But from there the cowboy had gone a little further, staying along to practice one day with him and pushing his way into the range past Hanzo so he could pick the spot he liked before the archer. That was the first time he noticed that he had a specific smell of wood, smoke, and cologne. A comforting mix with an added bonus of ‘pay attention to me’.

 Which he soon learned was parallel with McCree’s personality itself.

  It didn’t take long for him to start calling him pet names, although he seemed to have one for everyone he was fond of on the regular. ‘Doc’ was saved specifically for Dr. Ziegler, ‘Scooter’ was for Tracer. ‘Gen’ for his brother. Genji seemed to enjoy it but a shortening was an easy adjustment. Hanzo was not lucky enough to get an easy adjustment.

 ‘Darling’—no, ‘ _Darlin’’_ was his particular one of the week for Hanzo and it grated at the back of his throat every time he said it. It was better than ‘Robin Hood’ which was his nickname for 4 weeks before he demanded that he start calling him ‘Shimada’ or “Shimada-san’. However, McCree still called him ‘Darlin’’ half of the time he referred to him directly. Hanzo rolls his eyes and draws an arrow to aim at the target in front of him.

 It was early in the morning and he was completely by himself. Yet that still did not keep his mind from wandering about what was certainly an odd relationship between the two that started off with a round of practice and evolved into a daily routine.

 Since then, Hanzo Shimada could count the number of times that he had returned the things that McCree had left haphazardly around the facility on both of his hands. For someone who enjoyed using a mechanical lighter over matches, he certainly took little care for it, as he left the lighter around the firing range and the cafeteria numerous times. At first it was bothersome, and the habit had started as Hanzo returning these things to avoid listening to McCree complain about how he could never find his belongings. The most ridiculous incident was when he left his guitar outside of the room that had been granted to the archer. However, he had become accustomed to returning the American’s things to him. A schedule that was almost comforting in its normalcy, even if the exchange was usually a knock on the door, a thank you, and a good night.

 A goodnight and a smile from a rather friendly face. And a “Thanks much, Darlin’.”

_Darlin’._

 Hanzo lets an arrow release and it misses the target completely. The sound of it contacting the barrier in the back was like a small blow to the back of his head as he scolded himself. Sloppy. Embarrassing. Amateur. His only grace in the moment was that McCree wasn’t here to see that. Though, part of him wanted the American here to break the silence. It was odd that it mattered so much to him, considering that usually the other man just laughed it off and shrugged when he missed.

 But Hanzo was competitive, and currently the competition was a back and forth of trick shots. He was still trying to find a shot that would counter a previous one of the gunner’s. He had shot a round that shaved into the fiberglass rod of one of his arrows and landed directly above the head of it, as he had predicted. It would have been easy if McCree hadn’t put in stipulations that there would be no fancy tricks or accessories, just normal shots.

 At this point he was admitting to himself that half of him couldn’t end the competition due to pride, and half was wanting to impress McCree. Though he had been the instigator, it was McCree that thought it was a great idea to have a little friendly contest. He’d promised some kind of ‘prize’. Hanzo couldn’t imagine what the prize could be aside from liquor, which seemed like the easiest way to pay for a loss. Whatever he expected if Hanzo caved to a loss was beyond him, however. There was a small notion in the back of his mind that maybe McCree knew that he was easily coaxed into competition. It was impressive. Perhaps admirable.

What was he saying? Here he was mistaking distraction for affection. A small beep pulls him out of his thoughts. The door to the firing range opens audibly.

 “Are you up already? The birds ain’t even awake yet.” The familiar complaining rumble of a tired Jesse McCree piped up behind him as the door to the firing range closed behind him. Hanzo doesn’t turn but lets another arrow fly free, watching it meet the mark as the last should have.

 “How ‘bout we get a cup of coffee before we pick up from yesterday?”

 “As I have said before, I do not drink coffee.” Hanzo places his bow down and runs his fingers along the drawstring.

“Yeah, yeah, but I’d still like yer company, what do you say?”

Hanzo can feel his ears burn with a little color, and he takes the opportunity to make sure his hair tie is tight enough to mask his desire to cover them. “I suppose I could join you.”

 McCree shoots him a grin and pushes a little bit of hair out of his face, shifting his hat back into place. Of course he would be wearing his hat this early in the morning. “You want any help collecting yer arrows, or..?”

 “If you insist, but I am able to collect them on my own.” Most of them were in the target anyway. McCree specifically picks up the one that had missed the target and Hanzo has to suppress a grimace.

 “Something distract you?” He teases, twirling the rod in his hand. Hanzo narrows his eyes at him and yanks some of them out of the center of the practice target. “Awh, come on, Shimada, I was just makin’ a joke you don’t gotta give me the signature judgmental squint.”

 “It was simply an error.”

 “Everyone makes mistakes. It’s nice to see you’re just another normal guy.” McCree laughs at his own joke as he hands over the arrow and Hanzo purses his lips. “Come on, darlin’, mess hall’s opening up any minute now.” The chime of McCree’s spurs was audible as he wandered back to the front of the firing range.

 For the first time since he had met Jesse McCree, he let that nickname slide. McCree didn’t seem to notice however, too busy fiddling with his prosthetic arm as he waited.

 Hanzo had this sinking feeling as he followed McCree, like he was getting far too involved with this man for his own good. McCree had skipped out on the serape this morning, not that he would imagine that he would want to get coffee stains on it.

 That feeling stayed rooted in the pit of his chest when McCree brushed against him with a small lyrical ‘’scuse me’, when he forgot his tea at the counter and McCree jumped up to go fetch it for him midway into his meal, when he actually chuckled at one of McCree’s jokes and it brightens the other man’s face. How could a smile be so catchy?

 Smiling back at McCree must have put him in a good mood, as even when they were called to a meeting, he whistles the entire way there.

 Hanzo picked his seat first and it didn’t take long for McCree to choose the seat directly next to him. Winston was explaining what was on the schedule, and had assigned McCree, Tracer, Soldier: 76, and Lúcio. There was a suggestion to send someone else as defensive cover as well. Hanzo was volunteered and agreed to it with a stern nod.

 

 

 Tracer and McCree bickered about what radio channel they would tune into the entire trip. It was only when Soldier: 76 threatened them with nothing but oldies that the arguing stopped. The agreement was on a station playing jazz. Hanzo looks out the window as they arrive in Dorado. The city is speckled with paper mache decorations in the middle of a festival. McCree off handedly suggests once they’re done here that they all have a little fun at the festival and grab a bite to eat before they leave.

 Soldier: 76 reminds McCree that Los Muertos were the most active around this time of year. That the cluster of the festival was a good cover for transporting contraband and smuggling munitions. McCree grimaces. “How about once we clear out the goons, then?”

 The answer was still no.

The convoy comes to a halt and the team stepped out. There was a distinct smell of honey, spices, and meat. Had Hanzo had the opportunity, he would have taken McCree up on the offer to visit the festivities. Good food and good company was a hard commodity to come by. McCree must be able to smell it as well, because within a few minutes he trails off to a street vendor and returns with a kebab of peppers, onion, and beef. He offers a bite to Hanzo. “You want a piece before the chaperone catches on we’re playing hooky?”

Hanzo lets out a small amused snort and picks a piece of meat off of the top and chews it quietly. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, Darlin’.”

For the second time today, Hanzo lets the nickname slide. McCree finishes his snack and tosses the stick to a trashbin, but instead hits a passerby. The distinct symbol of Los Muertos is on the vest of the thuggish man and they shoot a glare at McCree.

“Sorry, Pard’, lousy timing.” McCree tips his hat and leans forward in an apologetic manner. Hanzo glances at the cart that a second Los Muertos member is pushing. Labelled ‘Produce’, but he couldn’t imagine it actually did. The commlink pings on and Tracer warns them to scatter before a flurry of gunfire can be heard up the walkway. The festival grinds to a halt as the citizens stampede for cover and the whirr of a weapon coming online pierces through the shrieks of terror.

 Hanzo pushes McCree and the duo sprint down the street, a rain of bullets between them causes Hanzo to duck down an alley and separate from McCree. His bow is in his hand within moments to defend himself, and he quickly climbs a wall to get to higher ground where he could aim better.

 Los Muertos seem to come out of the cracks of the city, aiming for the bowman to strike him down from his vantage point. The familiar sounds of his team mates could be heard on the next block. Re-grouping with them would be optimal, but he wouldn’t leave Jesse to defend himself on his own. Currently, however, his priority was defending himself, as an RPG flew by his face and crashed into the belltower of a chapel. Causing the structure to collapse and the bell rolling down the hill. Hanzo quickly hides behind the corner of the next building, walking across the balcony and raining arrows on three targets before they could lift their own rifles. The sound of a motorcycle peeling its tires came around the corner, and another rocket flies by him, this time into the open air before it explodes. “Hanzo, th’ hell are you doing?!” Comes a yell from McCree over the line. “Find me already, we’re toast on our own!”

 “I hear you.” Hanzo nods, vaulting over onto the roof and dropping down into the next alleyway, the turn of the motorcycle sends the wheels squealing again and he dashes up the alley. Attacking the projectile would just put lives in the houses near them to chance. The only option was leading them away to a point where they would only be a threat to him. He could smell the salt water coming from the wind towards him, and as the riders came into view again he dashed as fast as he could over the next wall to lead them there. With no reference for this place, Hanzo could only hope he was going in the right direction.

 Over the next wall is a hotel, and Hanzo could see citizens and tourists watching the chase from the window. Foolish people that would lose their lives over a small bit of curiosity. He takes the left instead and heads down a tight corner as the bike gains on him. One more right turn and he nearly falls over a bannister, gripping onto the corner as the revving of the motor turned to screeching of brakes. The bike crushes the bannister and Hanzo watches both riders fall to their death. Panting, he pulls himself to the ledge.

 Distantly, there was a distinct sound of what he could tell was whining metal, the tinny chime of metal crunching from force. It was enough to make him pause and turn in the direction of where it came from. What was that?

 The sound of a yell in the communication link sends him running up the alley and onto the roof of the hotel he had only just passed. He can see from his perch on the second floor that exactly who he believed he heard was very in much danger. The tinny chime sound from earlier had been McCree’s prosthetic arm, which was mangled and useless from the shredding of a bullet. This left reloading incredibly difficult, and nigh impossible in a skirmish like this. A moment later, McCree disappeared under the cover of overpass walkway. Hanzo dashes across the rooftop only to hear the sound of feet on a utility ladder. More Los Muertos investigating the crash.

 Hanzo makes quick work of two encroaching thugs by shooting a fragmenting arrow at the roof and letting it bounce up into the attackers, leaving them face down on the ground. In that moment, he could hear the familiar sound of McCree’s revolver. Four rounds, all of which did not seem to stop his attacker from the return fire. He dashes up the shingled rooftop to the other side of the building, but across the way was far too much cover for him to get a clear shot. One more shot flies out, leaving him at the last of his round, and no look of relief from McCree to show he had won this gunfight.

 Flashes of him having to pull the bloodied corpse of the gunner filled him with dread and horror. Hanzo Shimada realized losing Jesse McCree would be more than just the haunt of a teammate lost.

 He was panicking now. He couldn’t fire at that enemy from where he was, he couldn’t drop from this height and make it in time, he couldn’t use the dragons without putting McCree in the crossfire or missing completely. He only had his quiver to pinpoint a kill. He pulls one of the last of his fragmenting arrows from his quiver and he picks apart most of it, leaving only enough that it would bounce in one angle. A single shot. McCree holds his revolver up and fires the last of his ammunition. The step back tells Hanzo that is isn’t enough and he hurries to patch together the arrowhead, drawing it back full on his bow. He watches McCree hold up the Peacekeeper to try firing again, forgetting the chamber limit in the panic. He catches a glint of a tracking beam on the barrel and in a moment’s thought, Hanzo fires his arrow at the revolver.

 His throat feels like it is clenching as he watches it fly, bouncing off of the barrel and to the right, nearly causing McCree to drop it. There’s the sound of a target falling to the ground. Hanzo remembers to breathe once more. McCree’s eyes are looking at him in shock, relief, amazement. But that doesn’t compare to the relief that is visible on Hanzo’s face. The wave of relief that washes over him pulls a smile from the archer, and he’s so relieved he doesn’t realize that McCree isn’t smiling.

 Tracer calls them in. The mission was a success, but that didn’t even matter anymore to Hanzo.

 He couldn’t believe that he did that.

 

 

“I can’t believe you did that.” Hanzo hears McCree pipe up finally as they made it to the practice range. There wasn’t quite anything he could think of saying in that moment, so he pretended to be examining the fletching of one of his arrows. McCree sounds annoyed the next time he speaks.

“What on earth were you thinkin’, you could’a taken off my hand!”

“But—“ Hanzo started. “I did not.”

And for that, Hanzo was grateful.

“But you d— Goddam I did not take you for this much of a risk-taker.” McCree takes his hat off and runs his fingers through his hair with a cross between a wheeze and a sigh. “You win.”

“Excuse me?”

“The contest, Shimada, I’m guessing that kinda stunt wasn’t just to primarily save my neck!” McCree’s hat does not go back onto his head, but rather onto the table as he looks over to Hanzo. A temporary replacement prosthetic joined his flesh hand in straightening out the hair hanging in his face. A prosthetic was an easy replacement, but until the repairs on Jesse’s preferred model were finished, he would have to make due with a spare.

Hanzo clears his throat abruptly and folds his arms in a defensive manner. McCree tilts his head as if he is looking for an explanation, but Hanzo was not about to start talking about feelings rolling around in the back of his head in the middle of the firing range. McCree taps his foot and the spurs on his boot chime as he moves his head to look Hanzo in the eye, and then leans in a little closer as if the few inches he has on the archer will get him to spill it. They stare each other down for a full agonizing minute and Hanzo finds himself lost in McCree’s eyes. Within moments, Hanzo folds on their staring contest.

“Perhaps we will continue this conversation some other time.” Hanzo turns to quickly make an exit here. This was getting a little too close for comfort with him.

“Oh, no, darlin’. It’s here and now.” Hanzo can feel McCree tug him back by the loose sleeve of his outfit. “Which, by the way, I noticed you stopped correcting me calling you that. What’s going on, Hanzo?”

Hearing Jesse McCree call him directly by his first name, the entire sudden interrogation, Hanzo could feel his chest tighten and his ear burn red again. He clears his throat and tries to regain his composure.  “Are you simply trying to distract me from whatever ‘prize’ you had proposed?”

 “Oh I got a prize for you, alright.” He tugs him a little closer and gives him a small peck on the cheek before heading out of the firing range. Hanzo could feel his entire face burning now. “G’night!” came a call from McCree as the door shut.

 Hanzo runs his hands over his face. What on earth just happened. And he just left? How could that oafish brute just leave after that! He leans on the counter of the firing range and feels the leather of McCree’s hat. He picks it up and runs it over in his fingers. He’d left it behind.

 To be certain, Hanzo waited a few minutes to be sure he wasn’t going to return before he gathered his bow and quiver. He takes the hat with him.

 The walk to Jesse McCree’s room is long, and it feels like a pilgrimage, taxing on him. He can hear McCree strumming at his guitar in the room. Surely he couldn’t just forget that he left his hat there. He was constantly playing with the rim of it like it was a nervous tic or a force of habit. He knocks at the door.

 “Little busy trying to tune here.” Comes a sing-song tone that hints that he didn’t exactly want to be bothered right now. Hanzo forgoes this, knocking again and hearing a grumble from the other side.

 “Jesse, you’ve forgotten something.” He knows that gets McCree’s attention. He’d barely called him ‘McCree’ until the last month or so. As that was previously the first time for McCree, this was the first time he had said Jesse’s first name as well. He knocks again a little louder, and McCree opens the door, leaning against it.

 “My lighter again?”

 “I would think you would try to hang onto something so precious to you.” He places the hat on McCree’s head and he raises his brows.

 “Oh.”

 “I also want to let you know that I have found your ‘prize’ to be sub-par.” He claims matter-of-factly, but does not fold his arms this time. McCree purses his lips in a way that shows he was annoyed.

 “Oh?” he moves to lean away like he was getting ready to shut the door. Hanzo lets one of his feet slide just enough in the way that he would not be able to in case he interrupts him. “So I take it then you had a better idea of what you wanted then?” There’s almost a tinge of spiteful hurt in the way that McCree says that. Hanzo decided that the best solution would be to explain himself in a blunt manner that McCree would not be able to mistake.

 “Yes, as a matter of fact, I do.” He reaches for McCree’s serape and yanks him down, pulling a small gasp of surprise out of the gunman, and placing a kiss on the American’s lips. He can feel McCree tense, but as he presses more into the kiss, that tension melts, and Hanzo’s hand moves instead to cup his cheek and then pinch it as he pulls away. “Do not cause me such worry like that again, you foolish man.”

“Crystal clear, darlin’…” He murmurs.

 “Hanzo.” He corrects him. Hanzo wanted him to say it again. McCree looks surprised but nods.

 “Hanzo.”

 He inhales and holds his breath, feeling both vulnerable but satisfied. He tugs the American down again and kisses him once more. Jesse McCree laughs a little against his lips and he pulls back. “Does this amuse you?”

 “Yes—no—awh damn, it’s hard to explain, darlin’, it’s not to spite ya or nothing’. Just never expected this when I came home today.” He takes Hanzo’s hand and gives it a little tug. “You wanna come in for a spell?”

 “Understand me when I say this—“

 This time, McCree kisses him, and gives him a tug into his room, shutting the door behind them. And Hanzo lets him. He knows better but he lets him do it. He lets him press him against the door he had just been knocking on. Both of his hands twist into McCree’s hair and sends the hat to the floor. He can feel a rough hand tuck into the open side of his clothing, running up his ribs.

 McCree’s lips move to Hanzo’s neck and Hanzo tilts his head back, feeling the roughness of McCree’s beard scratch the side of his throat. “Do not leave marks—“

 A chuckle comes out of Jesse and he shifts Hanzo’s other sleeve off. “Come on, baby, I gotta have _some_ fun.” He gives Hanzo a light little nip on the side of his neck. “But all fun and jokes aside, thanks for savin’ my neck back there.”

 Hanzo’s hands gently pull away the serape, brushing the spare arm as the red cloth is splayed on the floor with the hat. It isn’t as detailed as the one that was destroyed. It isn’t as fluid and effortless as the prior one. He can only think if it was flesh that was hit. He McCree’s chin up to press another kiss to him.

 “I thought for a moment what it would be like if you were gone.” His grip on him now is practically desperate, as if McCree would slip through his fingers like sand if he so much as laxed a finger.

 “What’d it be like, then?” McCree asks as he kisses the shell of Hanzo’s ear.

 “Barren.” Hanzo admits. There is an admittance without such direct words in that single statement. McCree pulls him in for the kiss this time, pulling the belt away from Hanzo’s waist and letting it and his own boots mingle with the serape.

 “I guess I better stick around just for you then, huh, darlin’?” There was commitment in that sentence that paired subtly with Hanzo’s, and he pulls the archer towards his bed. The kiss that he places on the archer next is on his clavicle. Hanzo’s hands are back in McCree’s hair and he holds him against his chest for a minute. It doesn’t keep McCree’s hands from wandering, though. “Rather liked it when you called me by my first name, though.”

 “Did you? I hadn’t noticed.”

 “Gonna make me work it out of you then, huh? I can work that way.” McCree gives him a toothy grin and Hanzo can feel the heat in his ears burn again as kisses are placed down his sternum and hands worm their way into the hem of his pants. Within a minute, those are discarded as well, leaving Hanzo bare on Jesse McCree’s bed. It seems that even in the moment, McCree couldn’t help but be the comedian, wriggling his fingers against Hanzo’s sides, pulling a yell from him as he squirmed underneath him.

 “Jesse McCree, do not make me regret this!” he warns with a hiss.

 “Darlin’, I’d be a damn fool if I did.” Jesse tries to assure him as he kisses his hip.

 Hanzo tugs Jesse’s hair to reprimand him, but lets him continue, watching Jesse’s hand start to work him into excitement. His holds his breath, watching McCree wrap his hand around him and lean down to take his tip into his mouth. A hum comes out of McCree’s throat that makes Hanzo cover his own mouth with his hand. McCree reaches up to pull his hand away, running his tongue over the slit, and has to fight Hanzo’s other arm to get to the one covering his mouth. Hanzo wishes it were the other one. A gasp pulls from his throat as McCree purposefully pulls his hand away as he bobs his head down. “Jesse—“

 Hanzo’s hips push up and McCree has to take his hand away to push them back down against the mattress. Hanzo catches a glimpse of McCree’s eyes and his arm covers his eyes, there’s a chuckle that comes from the man between his legs and the vibration of his mouth pulls a moan out of Hanzo’s mouth. He can feel McCree rub his hip in affection. “Stop laughing…” He groans.

 He feels McCree pull away but continue to work him. “Stop making it so hard, then.”

 A contemptuous huff comes from Hanzo at that, and McCree pulls away to dig in his nightstand for lubricant before coming back to sit back between his legs. Hanzo notices how gentle he is being with his prosthetics; he hadn’t even brought them up. And for now, Hanzo would prefer for the attention to be on the flesh parts of himself. “So, darlin’… how we gonna do this?”

 Hanzo stares at him as if expecting him to explain further what he means.

 “I mean I can go both ways, so I’m tryin’ to get an idea of what you would prefer. Though it seems like to me you want a little pamperin’. Someone payin’ close attention to you—Ah there’s the sign.” He rubs Hanzo’s cheek and Hanzo covers half his face with his hand, betrayed by his blush again. “I got you covered darlin’.” He kisses the inside of his thigh and distracts him while he waits for the bottle to warm in his good hand. His prosthetic touches his side again and the cold makes him shiver.

 “That’s cold.” He hisses.

 “Well I’m tryin’ to make sure the lube isn’t.” McCree explains before he takes Hanzo back into his mouth to help distract him. He pours some of the lubricant into his hand and rubs his finger in circles around him before he slips the first inside. Hanzo grips the sheet and groans with his teeth grit. McCree pulls back and he can hear him reassuring him as pumps his finger in slowly. “Relax, Hanzo… nice and slow…”

 Hanzo can feel himself shudder as McCree slips his first name into the conversation, and then a second finger inside of him. “You said slow—“ He groans quietly, arching his back. McCree kisses his hip again as a second finger pushes its way inside and Hanzo cannot hold a moan, McCree’s mouth kissing its way back to the tip of his shaft and stroking inside of him. Hanzo feels like he’s being toyed with, that McCree is trying to test out how he works. He has a warm rising feeling in the pit of his stomach and a whine pulls from his throat as it builds up to pleasure. McCree pulls away again and presses the side of his forehead to Hanzo’s thigh.

 “Right there?”

 The most he was going to get out of Hanzo is a nod. McCree adds a third finger to him, he’s slow deliberate, and Hanzo finds himself losing control of the sounds coming out of his mouth. The feeling of having those fingers come out, however, leaves him wanting more from him. “Please…” He manages to set his pride aside for a minute to ask McCree for more and he could swear he could see then man shudder.

 The buckle of his pants is the next thing that McCree fiddles with, and it swings aside as he opens his pants enough to free himself, already fully erect. Hanzo glances up at his face and McCree gives him a questioning look. “You really gonna question how attractive watching you enjoy this is? Gonna have to put you in front of a mirror next time, then.” That low chuckle bubbles up from McCree’s chest and he leans over to pulls some more kisses out of the archer. Hanzo has no complaint in giving him kisses.

 McCree pulls away enough to take one of Hanzo’s hands and kiss his knuckles. “Shall we move on, darlin’?” Hanzo can feel one of his legs lift and shivers. But McCree waits, and Hanzo doesn’t know why. “… you’re gonna have to tell me at least a ‘Yes, Jesse’ ‘fore I do anything else. I wanna hear it.”

 Hanzo bites his lip and mutters under his breath. It’s not enough to get McCree to bulge but he does decide to tease him, rubbing slowly in circles. Hanzo’s hands grasp onto McCree and he tugs at him to pull him closer, which gets a laugh from McCree, and a few peppered kisses on his chin and lips. It’s an uphill struggle to which Hanzo eventually caves. His hand covers his face. “Please give me more, Jesse.”

 McCree’s face ducks, but he can’t hide his smile. “Sounds so good coming from you, y’know.” He’s gentle with Hanzo, and the archer can feel him begin to push inside, pulling groan out of him as he eases into him all the way. “Though, those moans sound even better if I do say so myself.” McCree starts to pump Hanzo’s shaft again with his flesh hand as he thrusts into him. Hanzo cannot believe the sounds that come out of his mouth and he uses his hand to silence himself. Jesse tugs at his wrist and pins it to the bed, the nails in the other one dig into his back. Hanzo cannot pull him close enough to himself. He can smell smoke and wood and cologne, and the comfort it brings him lets him concentrate on just enjoying himself.

 McCree leans back and Hanzo can see him look him over, picking his pace up and moving his hands to hold Hanzo’s hips. “God, Hanzo you are gorgeous…”

 Hanzo inhales sharply. “You flatter me.”

 “I’m telling the truth.” He angles Hanzo’s hips up and the archer’s eyes widen.

 “There—there—“ he practically wheezes, putting scratches into McCree’s back. McCree’s breathing is getting faster as his pace is. “Please, Jesse—“ Words start bubbling out of his throat. He can barely even hear what he’s saying.

   “You gonna save any of that for pillow talk, Hanzo?” Hanzo cusses loudly at him for making a joke like that at a moment like this, but accepts another kiss as an apology. “Why don’t you finish for me, darlin’?” the coo to his voice is enough to get Hanzo’s attention. “I want you to cum for me.” It’s the kind of demand that sends just the right shiver up Hanzo and he does finish for McCree. His hands grip at the sheets above his head and he watches McCree’s pace lose its rhythm. He presses a kiss to the gunner’s neck and grips his shoulders. He leaves a mark. He makes sure that it’ll peek just above the other man’s serape. McCree answers this by finishing inside of Hanzo.

 There’s several minutes of silence between the two as McCree lets Hanzo’s leg down, and pulls himself from the archer. Hanzo watches the gunner flop down beside him and he doesn’t quite know what to say.

 “Don’t think you can just sneak off now.” Comes the tease from McCree.

 “I would not dream of it.” Hanzo runs his fingers over the red mark left by his lips.

 “I thought you said no marks.”

 “You don’t seem to mind it.” Hanzo can’t help the smile to his face.

 “I guess you could call it my own ‘prize’ then.”

 Hanzo chuckles a little which gives McCree a big happy smile. Jesse sits up and tugs a blanket around the two of them. Hanzo shifts a little closer to McCree, who pulls him in, demanding physical contact. It’s enough to just be here with him, but Hanzo doesn’t even know where to begin now. The adrenaline of the spur of the moment wearing down and reason setting back in. That same familiar smell is light against McCree’s skin.

 “Have I told you yet that I do enjoy your cologne?”

**Author's Note:**

> this was supposed to be short and then suddenly it became 10 pages long, hope you all liked it.


End file.
